Greeks and Trojans
by BohemianRider
Summary: "Heeding the frat boy's advice, I tilt my head back further and the warm liquid shoots down my throat. I suppress the urge to gag. It takes a moment to realize it's over before I wipe the dribble off my chin with the back of my hand, grimacing. The small crowd cheers." Katniss attends her first frat party. (Submission to Prompts in Panem, R3D3.)


_November 1989._

I can't believe I'm doing this. Heeding the frat boy's advice, I tilt my head back further and the warm liquid shoots down my throat. I suppress the urge to gag. It takes a moment to realize it's over before I wipe the dribble off my chin with the back of my hand, grimacing. The small crowd cheers. Heat rises in my cheeks and I dip my head forward, hiding behind my hair.

I will never funnel beer again. I have no idea what possessed me to go along with this. Well actually I do, and she's standing twenty feet away with one of her classmates, smiling at me.

I glower at Madge. I could have easily ignored Johanna's request to come to my first frat party, but it was harder to turn down my other roommate. She's been looking for a distraction since breaking up with Gale, and as she rarely asks me to go anywhere, knowing how I hate to socialize with strangers, I could hardly turn her down this one time. And Madge had promised me that she has a couple of friends living at the frat house who are actually really good guys, so surely the party couldn't be all that bad.

She was wrong.

Everyone turns their attention to the next funneler as I see a short, fragile looking guy making his way over to me. I try not to show my surprise that Beetee is here. We'd run into each other a couple times last year in our building's laundry room, and he'd always seemed so awkward — turning his head away when speaking, one eye pointing in a different direction than the other. I felt sorry for him, so I'd tried my best to be kind and make small talk. Neither of which I particularly like or excel at.

He lacked all ability to read social cues. Our conversations never got past his detailed plan to use dental floss to retrieve money from the coin slots on the laundry machines. But I endured, figuring he had even fewer friends than I do. Or maybe it was guilt because I never could determine which of his eyes to look at during conversation.

I'm busy wondering whether or not he's seen an ophthalmologist when I notice him trying to get my attention above the din of the room.

"I'm sorry, what?" I shout, shaking my head slightly to clear it. Funky Cold Medina blasts from the stereo.

"I said, do you want another beer?" he shouts back.

"Uh, no, I'm good. The keg beer is too warm. But thanks." He's actually looking at me in the eye for the very first time. At least I think he is.

"I've got some bottles in the fridge if you want. They're cold," he says.

"Oh, no, I couldn't take your beer. I should have brought my own." You know, if I had any money, I think to myself. "But thanks anyway."

"Really, it's no problem. I have lots," he insists.

"Um . . . are you sure?" I hate the idea of owing anyone, but if he's making the effort to be friends with me, I don't want to be rude either. I'm still shocked that he's even at a party.

"Yeah, no problem. C'mon," he says, signalling me to follow.

I trail behind him as he saunters down the hall towards the kitchen, the sodden carpet reeking of stale beer, but pause when he unexpectedly turns and climbs the wide staircase that leads to the second and third floor bedrooms.

"Uh, where are you going?" I ask.

"To get the beer — I've got a fridge in my room. I didn't want to keep it in the kitchen and have everyone else drink it," he reasons. I hesitate at the bottom step, looking around. My head is buzzing from the alcohol I'd just guzzled. "C'mon, it's just at the top of the stairs."

Reluctantly, I trudge up the steps wondering why on earth I'm agreeing to this. But mainly I'm busy processing the idea that a fraternity full of jocks had accepted him into their house. Maybe Madge was right. Maybe I had unfairly judged fraternities. I consider this as I step inside his door, blinking.

Illuminated by a single red light bulb, he stands on the far side of the large bedroom, right between a mini-fridge and his bed. Grinning at me.

"The beer's over here. Come on in," he beckons.

Suddenly my sympathy evaporates.

I've been set up.

Give the little twerp six months in a frat house and already he thinks he's a lady killer.

"Yeah, you know what? I think I'm fine. Thanks anyway. I'm gonna go find my friends," I spit out. I turn and bail, running down the steps to find Madge or Johanna. It's not that I'm threatened by the guy. I have little doubt I could take him if it ever came to that. But the idea that he thought he could lure me up to his room while all his frat brothers were probably cheering him on? It makes me ill.

I need to get out of here.

I find both Madge and Johanna in the back of the house, sitting on the floor at opposite ends of the lounge. Johanna takes one look at me, rolls her eyes, and pointedly turns her back. She must be able to tell that I'm desperate to leave — I've never been good at hiding my emotions — and Johanna has never been particularly sympathetic to my anti-social tendencies.

Madge, meanwhile, is busy talking with a broad-shoulder blond that I recognize as her business classmate, Peeta. He glances over at me as I thread my way over limbs sprawled across the floor.

"Hey, you," a voice slurs as I step over a pair of legs. I look down. A glassy eyed woman gazes up at me. "You're in my class," she states.

"Yeah. Actually, I'm in three of them," I reply flatly.

I look her over, marvelling at how put together she appears despite being obviously wasted. Her long frosted blonde hair is still smooth and perfect. Pale lip gloss intact. Even her eye makeup looks like it was just applied.

While I tumble into our 8:30 a.m. classes just happy to have made it on time, she always looks flawless in a way that I never can. I wonder how early she has to get up to look like this. And how much money it costs.

"American History," she continues as if I hadn't spoken.

"Yeah, that's one of them," I say.

"So then you know." She points at me and turns to the group of frat boys sitting beside her. "_She_ knows who he is."

"Who _who_ is?" I ask, confused. She swings her head unsteadily at me.

"My _grandfather_," she drawls. "William Evanston."

I pause for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry, should I know who he is?"

"You're studying American history! How could you NOT know who he is?" I wait for her to explain, but all I get is a snarl. "Oh please. Do you have _any_ clue about American history at _all_?" she asks condescendingly.

I'm stunned. "I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

"Glimmer Evanston," she snaps.

"Huh. Well, Glimmer. I don't recall ever hearing his name mentioned in any of our lectures or seeing it in any of our texts." I reply calmly. "And considering I'm the top student in that class, I think I'm pretty likely to remember his name had it ever come up."

She curls her lip and turns to the guy rubbing intimately against her, effectively dismissing me.

"But maybe you've heard of _my_ grandfather," I continue. "He's pretty well known, too." Glimmer looks up at me. "Les Everdeen. Of Everdeen's Butcher Shop on Seam Street? Everyone on the North Side of Pittsburgh knows who _he_ is."

She stares at me like I'm a freak. I lift an eyebrow in return, smile tightly, and continue to make my way over to Madge. Glimmer says something as I leave but anger floods my head and I can't make out any words.

Great party.

I plop myself in front of Madge, turning my back to Glimmer so she can't see my face. I don't want her to know she got to me.

I hate frats. And apparently the only thing I hate as much as frats are self-important sorority girls at frat parties.

"Hey, Katniss. You know Peeta, right?" Madge asks me, ignoring my mood. I look over at Peeta, who smiles and gives me a small wave.

"Yeah, hi Peeta," I nod at him. He's been by our apartment a few times to pick up Madge on the way to the library. They've been working on a project together. He's also one of the few Commerce students who ever bothers to acknowledge my existence. Most of them ignore me even when I'm with Madge or they're in my home.

I tense up thinking about the continual snubs. From the business students to the fraternity boys and sorority girls. This whole university, known for it's academic excellence, just feels like a giant country club at times. And tonight is one of them. I'm annoyed and looking for an argument.

"You live here, Peeta?" I ask.

"Yeah, didn't Madge tell you?" he asks, looking relaxed against the wall with his feet kicked out in front of him.

"She just said she had a couple of friends who lived here that weren't typical frat guys," I say.

"Oh really?" he smiles, opening his eyes a little wider. "I'm honoured," he says to Madge.

"Well you shouldn't be," I scowl.

"Katniss . . . " Madge sighs.

"No, seriously. Every single guy here is a jerk. They're all shallow and sexist and classist and only care about getting in somebody's pants," I blurt out.

"You're saying I'm a jerk?" Peeta asks, taken aback.

"Katniss!" Madge warns.

"Well what else can I think when you choose to keep company with people like this? Frats are elitist organizations that perpetuate sexism and classism by their very existence!" I seethe.

"And that's what you think of me," Peeta says blandly.

I look down at the carpet between us and shrug.

"Fine, I grant you that fraternities aren't exactly hothouses of forward feminist thinking, " he begins, "but they aren't necessarily as bad as all that."

I scoff, looking back at him.

"Well, okay. Maybe most of them are," he laughs. "But this one isn't so bad. Take Beetee, for example. Do you think any other frat would have accepted him? There's no way. But we don't blackball anyone. And this frat has done a lot of good for him. Do you know how much more confidence he has since joining?" he asks.

"Yeah, too much. Oh, and nice red light he has in his room. Tell me, is that standard in all frat rooms? Part of the ambiance?" I say sarcastically.

"You were in his room?" Madge asks, stunned.

"Don't ask," I murmur, embarrassed.

Madge laughs at me. "I'm going to grab a beer but I want details when I get back! Either of you want one?" she asks as she gets up. I shake my head.

"Nah, I'm good," Peeta shouts after her, turning his attention back to me.

I sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. But I don't get why you would even join a frat to begin with. What can you possibly get out of it? I mean, do you actually enjoy living here?" I ask earnestly.

The music becomes much louder and Peeta and I have to lean in to hear one another. Beastie Boys. Of course. Anthem to frat boys everywhere. I refuse to like them based on principle alone.

Peeta continues to look me directly in the eyes. He's got beautiful eyes.

"If you were to ask my mother, she'd say that fraternities are an excellent place to meet future business contacts," he deadpans.

"Seriously? That's why you joined? You can't get enough of those in the Commerce department?"

"Not according to my mother. And since she's footing the bill for this fine institution, I either live in a frat house to meet my peers and future business liaisons, or I can live at home, go to university there, and save money."

"She _told_ you that you have to live in a frat?" I gape.

"Yep. But at least she didn't specify which one. I chose this one for a reason. I wasn't about to be a party to some place that blackballs people who seem too nerdy, or a house with a reputation for particularly sexist asses."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say. I feel like an idiot and turn my head away.

"And really, most of the guys here aren't too bad. You might even like some of us," he says, placing his palm on the floor beside me so he can lean over more. It's getting harder to be heard as people start shouting along with the song.

Despite the beer and cigarettes permeating the room, I notice the faint scent of cinnamon on him.

"Besides, it was a small price to pay for coming here. I've met some really cool people." I look up at him. He has impossibly long eyelashes. He holds my eyes for beat, then casts his own down to his empty beer bottle, shredding the label with his thumb.

At that moment someone trips over Peeta's foot. It's Beetee. He begins apologizing to Peeta until he notices me. "Hey, I was looking for you," he says, then pauses and takes note of Peeta's body practically curled around my own. "Oh, I didn't know you two were together."

"Yeah, no worries, Beetee," Peeta replies casually, and Beetee wanders off.

Peeta looks at me apologetically. He places his lips close to my ear, and I shiver slightly from the tickle of his breath. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let him assume anything. I just thought it would spare you another invitation to the red light district."

And I smile for the first time tonight.


End file.
